


how long can you hang around

by cloudcjty



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Harry and Shawn meet at a bar?, Sharry Nation, Sharry are best friends, for Cassie, harry i know u simp for him sorry, i shit on paul simon in this bc ofc i do yall know me, idk where tf they are i wrote this in like an hour, one direction existed, shawn is an aspiring musician and harry is famous but like... on hiatus, they recommend music to each other, this is in the 70s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:46:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23455741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudcjty/pseuds/cloudcjty
Summary: Harry Styles, after four years of non-stop touring, decides to take a break to travel. He grows his hair long, stops wearing designer, and takes a keen interest in playing pool. On a lonely night in San Francisco, Harry runs into one of his most devoted fans.Or, Harry and Shawn meet and it’s in the 1970’s. They share their favorite songs. This is for Cassie. I'm bored and ily. Also you can interpret this as them just being friends or them being flirty?? I don’t know I don’t ship Sharry I’m just vibing. This is open to a second part if u want one.
Relationships: Shawn Mendes/Harry Styles
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	how long can you hang around

Harry sat on the edge of the table, lightly running the tip of the stick over the felt, guiding it to the cue ball and sending it across the table. He watched as the rest of the balls split from their triangle, a swamp of blues and purples and greens, traveling in a dizzying pattern across the table. Smiling, Harry backed off, standing back onto the carpet, shrugging off his trick shot as none of the balls fell into pockets. 

His teammate took a shot of their own, ignoring Harry as he walked away to the record machine, thumbing through the cards. He found the song he was looking for, Jodi Mitchell’s California, written haphazardly onto a card in blue ink. The last time that he was here, Harry had written it onto the paper and slipped it into a suggestion box. The owner must have put it in from there. 

“You’re really good.” Harry heard someone speaking to him, leading him to look up from the player. 

“Thanks.” He turned back, emptying his wallet and tossing in his change to the record machine. “I’m nowhere near as good as my teammate, he’s knocking them in one after another. I can take as much time as I want away from the table because he doesn’t ever miss a shot.” 

The man beside him leaned against the player, crossing his arms and pulling the strings on his hoodie. Harry studied him while he was still looking down to the strings, focusing on the short curls in his hair, the way that his jaw curved, and the tattoo of the swallow on his hand. 

“You like my tattoo?” 

“I wouldn’t say that I like it, it’s just that I have similar ones.” Harry unbuttoned his shirt, showing off the swallows on his chest. He traced over the one on his left, leaving his shirt open and lifting off his sunglasses. Harry tucked his glasses behind his ears, pushing back his long hair. 

“You’re Harry Styles.” The man in front of Harry dropped his jaw. “No fucking way, you’re Harry Styles.” 

“I am. And who are you?” Harry watched as the record machine began to play, humming along to the guitar. 

“I used to listen to you in high school. I’m about to graduate college. Where’ve you been?” Harry noticed that the hoodie that he wore represented a university. 

“I asked who you were.” Harry chuckled, waiting for an answer. “And to keep it short, I’ve gotten tired of touring. I’ve been traveling the world. I’ve got a ticket to Madrid for next weekend, and this is just a stopover for Portland.” 

“My name’s Shawn.” Shawn smiled. “I never thought I’d be seeing you. I went to one of your shows, back when you were with One Direction, that must have been, oh I don’t know, I had to have been in junior high.” 

“Well, Shawn, what brings you here?” Harry sat down at the bar, motioning for Shawn to follow in suit. 

“I write songs, and sometimes, if I’m lucky, I get to perform them. I’m playing at another bar down the road at three A.M. I’d be surprised if anyone even came to that one.” Shawn laughed, searching his empty pockets for the money to buy himself a drink. 

“No, don’t worry about it. I’ll cover you.” Harry called over the bartender, ordering two drinks that Shawn had never heard of, having long forgotten about his game of 8-ball. “You should be more confident in yourself, that’s what draws in an audience. You don’t have to promote, you don’t have to write the flashiest songs in the world, just be yourself, and eventually, word gets around.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You were in a talent scouting competition, that’s how you got to be famous.”

“Not on my own, though. I had to work for that.” Harry thanked the bartender as he sent their drinks down the bar, handing him a ten, telling him to keep the change. “What kind of songs do you play? Country? Pop?”

“Genre doesn’t matter, you know that. I just write whatever I want to, whether that be something easy to listen to or me absolutely smashing my hands on my guitar.” Shawn took a sip of his drink, wrinkling up his nose. “What’s in this thing?”

“It’s wine.” Harry rolled his eyes. “You’re weak.”

“I just- anyways,” Shawn started laughing. “I’ve lost my train of thought.” He hid his head in his hands, running his fingers through his hair before he looked over to Harry again. 

Harry smiled back to him, resting his chin onto his fist. “What music do you listen to?” 

“I like Queen, and Stevie Wonder.” Shawn pulled out a small notebook from his pocket. “I’ve got a list of covers that I’ve been meaning to do.” 

“I love Queen,” Harry nodded. “Have you ever listened to Paul Simon? You know, 50 Ways to Leave Your Lover?”

“Yes, I have. He sucks. We’re living in the golden age of music right now, how can you go from Queen to him? There’s got to be people that are better in between.” Shawn flipped through his notebook, finding the page that he was looking for. “What do you think about a guy covering Dreams? I could never get it as great as Stevie, but I’ve been working on it.” 

“I just met up with her last Tuesday, they’re all about to start touring.” Harry took Shawn’s notepad, reading over his list. “Oh my God, you listen to Shuggie Otis? He’s a genius, I used to play Strawberry Letter 23 before every show. You have to play that for me.”

“I don’t have my guitar on me, it’s at the venue.” Shawn took another sip of his drink, stomaching it down. He wanted to look cool for Harry, after all, he had never imagined that he’d be sharing his favorite songs with his favorite musician. “Do you miss touring?”

“Absolutely, but I think that it was time for me to get away from the spotlight. I’m going to Madrid for rehearsals, though. I’m going to do music festivals for a good portion of the summer.” Harry finished his drink, passing the empty glass to the bartender. 

He felt someone tap his shoulder, Mitch, again. Just as loyal of an opponent in pool as he was in the band. He had finished racking everything up, setting up the table just perfectly to play again. 

“Don’t give up, I believe in you.” Harry patted Shawn on the back. “I’ll see you around.”

Shawn stuffed his notebook back into his pocket, watching Harry walk away. Harry began laughing with his friends, breaking the ball perfectly, giving one of them a high five. Shawn stood up from the chair, leaving his glass full. He took his jacket from the coat rack, taking one last look at Harry before leaving. 

Shawn sat backstage, peeking out the curtain at the five customers occupying the place. The room was nowhere as big as where he had been with Harry, and there wasn’t a pool table in sight. He strummed his guitar, trying to remember the chords to the Shuggie Otis song, swearing under his breath as he had forgotten. 

Eventually, Shawn took the stage, sitting on a lone wooden stool, tapping the microphone to see if it worked. He cleared his throat, forgoing a guitar pick, feeling the vibrations of the chords on his fingertips. Shawn closed his eyes, thinking about what Harry had said to him, about not being afraid to play to no one, and to be confident. 

He played his show, working through the covers that he wanted to play but never had, laughing through the bumps in them, his vocal cords cracking or a wrong note being played on his guitar. Shawn ended his show, watching the crowd - if you could even say it was a crowd, walk out of the bar, clapping for him in odd intervals. 

He walked offstage, taking his guitar onto his back, stopping by the office for the money he had made. Twenty dollars a night wasn’t bad. 

Walking out onto the street, he felt someone’s hand grab his shoulder. 

“I watched you show,” Harry said. “You sang that song that I like.” 

“I did. You inspired me to do it. I still need to work on it, I think that one’s the roughest of my set.” 

“I need an opening act,” Harry smiled. “How long until you graduate?”

“You’re not serious,” Shawn laughed, starting to walk away. “I graduate in three weeks, and after that, I start working.” 

“Tell your boss you can’t come in. I need someone to play the summer with me. Come to Madrid with me.”


End file.
